dig safe

the more i think about the bs finale the more i realize the tragedies underlying the happy endings, so as of today i’ve decided to be dumb and blind. im taking the easy way out lads. subtext does not exist. all is well (ノ◕‿◕)ノ*:・゚✧

Repressed Trauma

If you suspect repressed childhood trauma, please remember-

You don’t have to uncover every memory/every detail to heal. You don’t have to recover all your traumatic memories to heal from them. You don’t need all of those memories and details to feel better.

If you aren’t in a safe situation (away from abusers, seeking help or stable), consider waiting to work on uncovering traumatic memories. Uncovering trauma can greatly increase risk of suicide and self harm, and can greatly worsen mental health. Please don’t go digging until you’re physically safe. 

Trauma therapy, EMDR, and time will help with dissociation and other symptoms of cPTSD and PTSD. Waiting to deal with trauma until you have access to these tools is a valid choice and forcing yourself to remember repressed memories can be dangerous. 

Recovery and healing are possible. You’re not alone in this, and others have been through the similar situations. Healing is possible. Feeling better is possible. Take it slow and don’t force yourself to uncover repressed trauma. 


Happy pride to all my fellow London peeps! 🏳️‍🌈Shout out to all the other closeted yet impulsive gays who also do shit like buying a 5 foot rainbow flag that you now have to hide in a cupboard… 👌

Have a good one! ❤️💛💚💙💜

Please don’t reblog!

anonymous asked:

Geoff has a safe in his room and hasnt told anyone what's in it. All the other members attempt to break it open because theyre dying to know what's inside

Someone sent me this prompt FOREVER ago, and since I’m a butthole I totally forgot about it, but you know what I’m going to take a crack at it. I am so sorry for the wait.

Gavin is the first one to find the safe. He’s digging through Geoff’s closet, looking for a suit passable enough for some gala he’s supposed to infiltrate later that night, when he literally slams his knee into it.

After a few choice words, he takes a step back, staring at the safe, rubbing his chin. He nudges it with his foot, studying it closely, poking at the lock with his finger. He curses the lack of electronic lock, knows he’s not skilled enough at lockpicking to get the stupid thing opened, figures he could probably ask Jeremy or Ryan for help, but decides it’s not worth the trouble.

Grabbing a suit at random, he abandons the safe for now, but for the rest of the night it lingers in the back of his mind. What could be inside? What is Geoff hiding? And who else knows about this safe? Who doesn’t know? It’s almost distracting enough to blow Gavin’s cover, but he manages to get through the night without much fuss.

When he gets home that night, he fiddles with his phone. He types out a text message to Jeremy, deletes it. Types out another to Ryan, deletes that one, too. Nearly calls Geoff to ask him what’s in the safe, decides against it. Listens to three rings before hanging up on Jack. Finally, he texts Michael, but doesn’t get an immediate response.

When Michael does text back it’s a line of question marks and nothing more, and Gavin can’t help grinning sheepishly. It had been a vague text, and it’s also 3 in the morning.

He texts: Geoff has a safe.

Meet you at his penthouse, Michael sends back immediately and Gavin nods, quickly changes his clothes, and rushes out of his flat.

Geoff is out of town, on some job with Fakehaus, so neither are exactly quiet when they break into his place. They get into an row about whether they should turn on a light, Michael more vocal of the two, contradicting his ‘we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves’ argument, both so distracted they almost miss the shadow emerging from Geoff’s couch.

They scream, clutching at each other, watching as the figure walks towards them, completely forgetting they’re both armed. A familiar laugh echoes through the penthouse, ceasing their shouts immediately, and Michael snaps a light on.

“Ryan, you arse,” Gavin says, clutching his chest, his heart pounding hard against his palm.

“Yeah you stupid fuck,” Michael snaps, fixing his glasses. He can’t quite keep the amusement out of his eyes when he adds, “Gavvy here almost shit himself.”

“Wasn’t the only one,” Gavin mutters but Michael ignores him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Ryan retorts, crossing his arms, a disapproving frown on his face. “Does Geoff know you’re here?”

“He’s not even in the country.”

Ryan uncrosses his arms. “Fair point. Look, we’ll just pretend we never saw each other. Okay?”

“You here about the safe.” It’s not a question, Gavin can see it in his eyes, he’s found the damn safe and wants to now what’s inside, too. Ryan doesn’t even deny it, frustration flashing across his face, and Gavin can’t help grinning. “Driving you crazy, innit? What’s inside? What could Geoff possibly be hiding?”

“When’d you find it?” Ryan asks, ignoring Gavin’s teasing, and Gavin feels a little disappointed. He had been hoping for some of their quippy banter.

“This morning.”

“This afternoon.”

“I’m just here because Gavin texted me,” Michael says, raising his hand. “I vote we break the bitch open.”

“I agree.”

“Same here.”

“You try picking the lock?”

Ryan rubs the back of his neck, looking away from Gavin. He’d tried, that’s for certain, but he’d also failed. They should have called Jeremy, he could probably get the lock open, but there’s already too many people involved. One more person, they’d might as well post an ad in the paper.

“Let’s just blow the door open.”

“In the closet?”

Michael rolls his eyes, sighing heavily, and walks away from them, calling over his shoulder, “Where is this stupid fucking thing.”

They follow him, showing him into Geoff’s closet, only to find the safe missing. Ryan holds his hands out, gesturing to the empty spot, confused. He turns to Gavin, who shrugs, just as lost as he is, and the two turn to Michael.

“Don’t look at me. It’s your phantom safe.”

“Who could possible…” Ryan trails off, realization dawning on him, and he and Gavin says, “Jack.”

“Yes, Geoff, I moved it.” The small convertible easily maneuvers through the streets, the driver glancing over at the safe sitting next to her. “It was a bitch to move by the way.”

Thanks, Lindsay, I owe you big time.”

What’s in this thing anyway?”

It’s a secret,” Geoff replies and hangs up before she can question him further. She looks over at it again, studying it for a second, before speed dialing Jeremy.

He’s probably up this early.

anonymous asked:

Hey I just wanted to ask something. It's always been known that Hephaestus is ugly, but is that really true because I've actually checked texts and it doesn't really SAY he was ugly very clearly. So was he actually ugly provided by text or was it something made up in modern day?

[I apologize if any language used in the following post is disturbing in any way. I am using terminology from sources that may be outdated and referencing historical atrocities which can be upsetting. Please proceed with due caution. Referenced: infanticide, lame and crippled as descriptors for disabled people]

I’m going off the top of my head here but I’m 99% certain he wasn’t ugly–his statues were about the same level of beauty as the other gods–but the “ugly” description is probably linked to the fact he is a lame god (his crippled leg/foot, depending on the myth).

The ancient Greeks were, uh….pretty terrible towards people with disabilities. The history of infanticide spans hundreds of years in Greece and it was mostly noted (as far as we can tell) in terms of “unfit” babies. Fit, healthy people were considered beautiful and so in simplistic terms, those who were not fit and not healthy were not beautiful. There are exceptions* but that was the general idea. The reason why he was called ugly got lost along the way but the ugly descriptor stuck for some reason.

*Exceptions are what led to the evolution of a more egalitarian society! Also, a lot of the Panhellenic cults (like the Elysian mysteries) spread so far because they were more accepting to a wide range of people.

And this wasn’t a belief held by everyone of the time. Hephaestus was clearly a loved god. He was just mostly worshiped by the working class (which is why it can be hard to find information about him and his cults! For instance he’s the patron god of Lemnos and they had festivals and such but for whatever reason never built big displays to him). There’s actually some historians who believe a higher percentage of disabled people would work crafts because it was seen as acceptable because the god of workman was disabled himself. I haven’t seen strong proof one way or another but it’s an interesting thought.

anonymous asked:

Courf has a video on the deep depths of his phone of Enj and Ferre drunk, singing Fight For Your Right by the Beastie Boys

He will never, ever delete that video for as long as he lives, because it’s prime material to use against them in the best way possible. Every now and again, Combeferre and Enjolras will assume they’re free of that particular mistake. But just as they’ve forgotten; just as they assume they’re safe… Courf digs it up from the trenches of the ocean and sends it to them.

Picture it: Enjolras and Combeferre on the night of Ferre’s birthday, drunk beyond belief, with drinks in their hands and all but hanging off one another. There’s a party hat sitting crooked on Enj’s head, and for whatever reason, Combeferre is half-way onto the table. They’re screech-singing Fight For Your Right. There’s no music playing, it’s horribly off-key, and Ferre is several words ahead of Enjolras. Courfeyrac, recording the video on his phone, is cackling like a madman.

Now, imagine this:

Combeferre has just made it home after a long day of classes. He had an exam that day; it didn’t go horribly, but it was dreadfully boring, and he didn’t get quite enough sleep the previous night. It’s raining, and he’s ready to change into something dry and warm, curl up on the couch with some tea, and sleep the rest of the day away. He enters to see Courfeyrac sitting on the couch, a book balanced in his lap, and an oddly mischievous look on his face. He’s trying much too hard not to laugh about something - but Ferre writes it off as nothing. He likely read something witty in the book, and he was trying not to laugh aloud over it. Courfeyrac greets him casually; now, he’s biting his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. This makes Ferre suspicious; but he’s too tired to worry much, and heads to the bedroom for a change of clothes after he returns the greeting.

His phone pings: it’s Courf’s signature text tone. Curious, he pulls his phone from his pocket, and unlocks it to pull up the message. Courf had sent him a video. It’s probably some sort of ridiculous meme; Courfeyrac frequently snatches them from various parts of the internet to send to Ferre, as well as most of their friends. The thumbnail is solid black, and the video is 47 seconds long. He doesn’t have a clue what it might be. Figuring it’s just something humorous, he opens it and hits play.


Ferre hears Courfeyrac howling with laughter down the hall as his face drops in horror. That’s it. He’s kicking Courfeyrac out. Marius can have him back.

Enjolras has just given a speech at a protest that he’s rather proud of. He thinks that it went rather well, considering he hadn’t planned to give a speech at all that day; but someone in the audience apparently listened to his speeches before, and had asked him to take the stage. The stage, of course, being a wooden crate that barely put him over the crowd. It was impromptu, and came right from the heart - but, he supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Speaking from the heart is just as important as any planned speech he could ever give, and the crowd had responded favorably, anyhow.

He gets down from the crate, pleased with how things have gone so far, and his adrenaline is pumping. Today is going exceptionally well. No interference, no interruptions by anyone hateful, no police calls; he would consider it a win, all in all. As he rejoins his friends, his phone chimes. He’s usually against checking his phone during rallies, but Joly was home sick that day - what if he needed something? Enjolras wouldn’t risk ignoring a text when it could be from a friend in need!

It’s… from Courfeyrac, however. He glances over at Courfeyrac, who seems completely oblivious to the fact that he’d texted Enjolras when he was literally two yards away from him. It’s a video; maybe he’d recorded something from the rally, or a part of the speech he’d made. Curiosity got the better of him. He hit ‘play’.


Enj almost drops his phone in his abject horror: it was only a matter of time before this monster of a recording reared its ugly head again, but he would have never expected it to have been in the middle of a rally… with his volume all the way up. He barely manages to close out of the video and silence his phone before it gets any worse, but people in the immediate area are giving him odd looks, and Courfeyrac is hunched over, nearly in tears at Enj’s shock. 

Enjolras would have whacked him with his own cardboard sign if they weren’t at a rally against violence.

anonymous asked:

I'm making some changes to my paracosm, and I decided to make magic a larger "thing" in it. How much magic do you think is *too* much? I'm thinking about magic influencing the land that people inhabit, and magic influencing people's lives. Now, everything would have a plausible explanation (magic in my paracosm has a set of rules), but I'm afraid to fall into the "deus ex machina" territory. When should we stop using the "It's magic!" explanation for improbable stuff?


There is no such thing as too much or too little magic. 

When creating a world, incorporate as much or as little magic as you want. It’s yours, and you can do anything with it! And in fact, magic is a fantastic explanation if you want improbable things to be a part of life in your world. 

The only thing you need to do when working with heavy-magic worlds is make sure to have internal consistency, and make sure to make it all make sense (if your world is one where things make sense. Sometimes it’s best to just handwave things, and preposterous stories can be a lot of fun! It’s mostly stylistic choice at that point). You mentioned that everything follows a set of rules, so it sounds like you’re well down this path already. 

A few things to avoid so that your magic-heavy world will not annoy your readers: 

Follow Your Rules. If something always happens a certain way, do not deviate from that rule unless you have a legitimate explanation for why it can do so. Stories that focus on a breaking of an established rule can be really neat, and breaking your own rules can be fun, but you have to explain why. If, in your world, someone can use fire or water magic but never both, and then a character shows up who does, you need to have an explanation behind that (this can vary; supernatural forces, rare and not-well-known circumstances, misunderstanding of the rule by the general public, etc, as long as the explanation is there).

Don’t Make it Convenient. If the magic in your world solves everyone’s problems and never causes more problems, it will be boring. If magic is powerful, think about what kind of social implications it might have, especially if not everyone has access to it equally. If you implement magic in a way that solves one problem, try to at least give it the potential to cause other ones. 

Also, if you need something to happen for plot reasons (someone needs to die, a battle needs to be lost, an event must play out without intervention) and it is possible for that event to be stopped or changed with magic, make sure you have a reason that it didn’t get changed. It drives me up the wall when powerful characters don’t use their powers at crucial moments for no apparent reason, and everything gets screwed up as a result. If your character can see through walls, there’s no reason for her to peek around a door and get spotted by the bad guy. However, this is not to say that events like this cannot happen! Maybe the character who can see through walls is being pursued by someone who can sense her magic if she uses it, so it’s actually less risky to try to peek around the door. Alternate explanations can be fun, and they won’t irritate your readers like it will if someone conveniently forgets to use their magic. 

Make it Part of Life. If you’re going to have the land and the lives of people influenced by magic, make this influence show up in a lot of little ways, and try to make it a dynamic aspect of the world, instead of leaving it static. What if there is a magically very fertile land, but in order for it to remain fertile, certain trees have to be left untouched? What if everyone knows that, but then lightning strikes one of them and it dies? 

If a mountain is held up by magic, is it safe to dig a tunnel through it, or will that disrupt the magic? 

If someone who would otherwise die is kept alive by magic, how does that change their life? Did the magic simply fix whatever was wrong with their body that would have killed them? Do they have to be sustained by an object, and if that object is damaged they die? Are they magically tied to the person who may have saved their life? 


I think the most important way to stop magic from killing all your tension is to make sure the magic has a cost. Perhaps it’s unpredictable and the characters can’t really rely on it. A character who must cast spells using their own blood can only do so much before needing to rest; one who burns their own lifeforce and shortens their lifespan with every spell they cast will likely come to prefer not casting spells at all unless they have no other options. Spell components can be expensive, rare, obnoxious, etc. It could be that everyone learns a few basic spells and cantrips the same way they learn reading and math, but any significant power requires extensive study and training, an inborn talent, something like that.

Games are actually a great place to look at this. Video games, tabletop RPGs, even some board games–if there’s magic in play, they have to find ways to balance it and keep a character from being too broken and being able to run roughshod over any obstacle in the way. Cooldowns, mana costs, skill trees that cut off certain options depending on which path you take, physical components that get degraded or destroyed with use: all of these are ways to keep the magic users from being able to do whatever they want whenever they want. In fiction these things might not be quite as clearly quantified, but you can still use the concepts (like a sorcerer might not have a defined number of spell slots, but their spells become less effective or even stop working entirely if they push themselves too hard).


Personally, my line for “too much” magic in writing happens when: a) it takes such a long time to explain the function/purpose/execution of the magic that it distracts from the scene/plot/narrative (UNLESS some magical execution happens to be part of the scene/plot/narrative) b) it involves memorizing too many vocab words/rules/quirks of operation to stay on track with the world c) so much gets hand-waved away (author assumes the reader will excuse and accept things as ‘magic,’ and/or that explaining the rules somehow makes it less 'magical’) that you’re left wondering “huh? wait, why did that happen/how was that possible? Magic, I guess…” d) there’s a mostly-magical solution for almost every conceivable problem except the cliche basics, like “can’t force people to fall in love,” or “can’t bring back the dead” (which, imo, are pretty weak constraints by themselves. Like the genie from Aladdin, he’s so powerful except for those things. Materialize an army? Make you improbably rich? Done! BUT they include the bonus restraint of “you only have three wishes” as a much better balance to the magic system).

I guess I can summarize that as “don’t let magic itself steal the spotlight away from more important things, but don’t let it be a mystery either.”

How Will I Know [16/17]

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader [AU]

Warning: Language. Angst. Drama. The Dirty. Plot Twist.

You’re engaged to James Barnes, at your fathers request and you always did as your father asked. That is till Steve Rogers waltzed into your life one night with those blue eyes haunting your dreams and the life shattering grin of his. Your families at odds, refusing to get along, the ring on your hand binding you to another man when you just might be falling for another set of blue eyes. Are you willing to say I Do in white and take this to the grave, or are you ready to defy your family and live something you’d only heard stories about?

Miss Something?

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some people
spend their entire lives
watching others live.
they never sin,
they never get angry,
they never go crazy,
they never explore,
and they make no mistakes.
they think they’re playing it safe
by digging a hole in the ground
and hiding their seeds in it,
so that when the imaginary unjust master
comes and makes demands,
they can dig them up and say
well, look! i did nothing wrong,
i did nothing wrong at all.
—  BURIED SEEDS (Magic Spells from the Cosmic Dragon)
Let me show you

Summary: After a rough week, Y/N is going out with some guy in search of fun. Unfortunately things ran out of control and she end up drinking her sorrows in a bar.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader; Brandon (oc; only mentioned)
Word count: 1.500
Warnings: Alcohol, mention of dating app, non consensual touch (barely there; only mentioned), use of the word slut, Dean being Dean (yeah, that’s a warning)
A/N: I wrote this for Katy’s Wish Upon a Star Challenge by  @katymacsupernatural​. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always nice, please tell me what you think! My grammar isn’t that good but I’m working on it!

Originally posted by wonderfulworldofwinchester

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That Time of the Month

Anonymous said: Hi it’s a on who wants to second Winchester girls I wanted to no if u could like have one of them on ther period and they abt conplain and asking how she does this and when tere guys again they never tell her to stop complaint when she’s on her period thanks

Anonymous said: Can u do a part 2 to Winchester girls please >_

Anonymous said: I just read Winchester giraffes and I thought it was funny as fuck can you make a part two? Please.

Anonymous said: Hi! I loved your girl winchester imagine so much it was really good. I was wandering if or when you were going to make another? I loved it and I am sure others did too.

littlered7hood said: Part 2!

grace-for-sale said: Part 2!! Please with Sam and Dean on top!

salt-shells-holy-water said: Please do a part two on Winchester girls

A/N: Due to obvious popular demand, I’ve decided to push this one to the top! And to that, first anon, you read my mind exactly about what was going to happen! Sorry it took so long, but with a three day weekend I should be able to write a bit more.

Part I

Word count: 1,312

Pairings: slight Gabriel x Reader

Warnings: cussing.


“I don’t know how you can do this,” Dean whispered with his unfamiliar voice. “You are never coming to a bar alone again.”

You had spent the day talking to the family and friends of the victims of what appeared to be a ghost. The only thing that was interesting about the case was that the ghost had been ripping the heart out of its victims, just like a werewolf, which had gotten you and the girls confused until you’d learned that the ghost was a woman seeking revenge on girls who had cheated on their partners.

So, even though you didn’t want to waste any more time knowing that the sucker was still roaming through the town, you went to a bar until it was safe to dig out the body without anyone seeing you. And so far you’d lost count of how many guys had hit on Sam and Dean.

“Come on, it’s not like you don’t do the same thing,” you replied, taking a sip of your beer. You knew that biologically Dean and Sam wouldn’t be able to drink as much as they wanted without getting drunk, so you forced them to take the same thing as you.

“At least I leave girls alone when they want to,” Dean replied, his now slick fingers grasping the beer bottle and chugging it down.

“Hey, ‘hot stuff’, be careful with that,” Sam said, repeating what some drunk had called Dean earlier.

“Shut up, Sam,” the other girl replied, her voice a bit gruff.

“Alright, enough fighting, ladies,” you chuckled, “we’ve got a bad bitch to burn.”


You’d seriously hopped that Gabriel would have turned them back by the end of the night. But of course, the mighty Trickster had not made any hint of an appearance, so you and the boys parted ways as you went to sleep.

It was barely even seven when you woke up again, your five hours of sleep interrupted by banging on your door. Groaning, you reached for the gun under your pillow and and yawned as you stood up.


Well, now you were definitely awake. Rushing to the door, you yanked it open to find the girls outside your room. Sam was kneeling on the floor, his hands pressing against his stomach and his face contracted in pain. Dean was leaning against the side of the door, his actions mirroring the ones of his brother.

“Dean?! Sam?!” You dropped the gun immediately, kneeling next to Sam and checking for any wounds before also checking Dean. Neither of them responded, but instead continued to grunt and make agonised faces. “God dammit, women, tell me what’s wrong!”

“Bleeding,” Dean managed to croak out, his voice tainted with misery. His slid down to the floor, hissing like a hurt cat.

“Bleeding where?!” you yelled, checking his body once again just in case you’d missed something.

“Down here,” Sam answered, opening his eyes just long enough to glance at his middle before shutting them with pain.

“Down here? What’s that sup—oh.” You froze as you finally realised what was wrong, your mouth dropping in surprise. How could you have even missed the red spot on their pants?

And then, to Sam’s and Dean’s annoyance, you started to giggle, though soon you were also on the floor like them, your laugh strong enough to wake up the other residents of the motel.

“(Y/N)…not…funny,” Dean whispered, glaring at you.

Finally, with tears pooling in your eyes, you were calm enough to get up again. Taking a deep breath, you wiped the tears away from your cheeks, noticing that your whole face had become flushed while you were laughing.

“Okay, Gabriel, maybe you should ease off on the cramps,” you mumbled, not really knowing if the angel had heard you.

“(Y/N), please, can you just help us?” Dean practically begged, Sam nodding at his words. It was weird to see two full-grown women asking for your help with their periods, but then again, these weren’t your usual women.

You dragged Dean and Sam back to their motel room, cursing underneath your breath at the fact that even though they were less muscly than when they were guys, they were still taller and heavier than you. You eased them into their own beds, your hands on your hips as you looked at them.

“So, how much does it hurt?” you commented casually, though you didn’t really enjoy knowing that they were in pain, you also didn’t mind the fact that now they would finally understand why you complained when you were on your period.

“I feel like my stomach is gonna kill me,” Sam whined, rolling over to his side. “I seriously don’t know how you can go through this every month, (Y/N).”

“I’ve never felt so much betrayal from the favorite part of my body,” Dean said, “please, (Y/N), if I don’t make it out of this alive, I want you to know that I always loved you like my own sister.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s your uterus that’s responsible for this; I get that you guys are in pain, but at least try to think,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “And Dean, don’t be such a drama queen, you’re not dying.”

“It feels like it,” he protested, making you roll your eyes.

“Well. Wait a second. Oh, hell no! Does this mean that you guys ruined my clothes?” you groaned, taking deep breaths to calm down.

You weren’t sure you were gonna actually want them back, since they would definitely have been stretched, but it wasn’t like you had the luxury of buying more whenever you wanted. This had just gotten personal.

“Gabriel! If you don’t come here at this fucking moment I swear I will—!”

“You will what, Cupcake?” the angel asked cheerily, suddenly at your side. You jumped slightly, but quickly regained your angry posture again.

“Turn them back,” you growled, narrowing your eyes at him. “You said just one day. It’s been enough.”

“But they just started their first periods!” Gabriel said, staring at you with big puppy eyes. But no matter how adorable you thought he looked, you weren’t about to let him get away with this.
You took a step towards him, you face just an inch away from his. To try not to focus on how dangerously close your lips were to his, you opted to look at his ever-changing-color eyes. This didn’t prove to be very wise, as their current golden color could make you melt on the spot.

“Either you turn them back or I will stab an angel blade through you and bathe in your blood as an act of victory,” you whispered, your voice so deathly that you felt everyone tense up.

Gabriel gulped nervously, avoiding to look at you as he took a step back. With a snap of his fingers, Sam and Dean returned to their bodies, totally naked. They both yelped as they tried to cover up, but you didn’t even bother to look at them. You snatched up the miraculously clean clothes that had appeared in Gabriel’s arms, feeling your anger fade away.

“Thank you,” you smiled victoriously. Who knew that getting an angel to do what you wanted was so easy?

“Anything for you, Cupcake,” Gabriel grumbled, his hands in his pockets. You couldn’t help but laugh at his child-like behavior, and, with a sudden burst of confidence, lean over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Next time, just give them their own clothes,” you whispered in his ear, walking out of the room before he could see your blush.

Gabriel, however, was too astonished to listen to you, his hand raised over the spot you’d left your imprint on.

Kingdom of Maria

The Kingdom of Maria : Chapter One : Picnic

Rating: Teen & Up

Pairing: Levi Ackerman and Eren Jaeger

Tags: Alternate Universe, Intimacy, Blood,
Ereri Spring Weekend 2017, Day 1: Picnic

Summary: Eren Jaeger, the Prince of Maria, travels to the capital with his sworn protector, Sir Levi Ackerman. Unrelenting rain from early that day causes a delay in their journey, so the pair must seek shelter.

Levi had been guiding the prince on horseback since the early hours that morning, hoping to make it to the capital by sunset. But alas, the fog and rain of the afternoon storm delayed them significantly, and he was forced to scout out a place for the prince and himself to rest overnight.

“Maybe a cave, Levi. By the mountains and forest, over there,” Eren points east, not too far off track from their destination. The storm clouds had only just dissipated and he was still drenched as a result. Levi follows the prince’s direction with narrowed eyes. He was sure they could find shelter there, but was afraid of what else might have taken shelter there as well. Bandits, bears, or even goblins. He grumbles and takes another survey of the land. Nothing else but grassland and meadows for miles.

“Good eye.” Levi just says, turning his horse in that direction. “Stay behind me.” He sets the horse to go forward, expecting Eren to follow. “We haven’t met anyone, seen anyone so far. Not a single bandit or highwayman…. I was sure to stray from the roads, but we haven’t seen any hunters either. It’s strange.”

“You’re paranoid Levi. It was the rain that drove them off. I’m sure they didn’t want to get soaked like us.” He pouts."I’m cold, you know.” Eren’s voice has a bit of a whine in it at the end, which causes Levi to shake his head.

“Stop complaining, brat. I promised to keep you safe, not dry.”

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A Curse Against Those Who Steal Ideas – “You Dug a Pretty Grave For Your Passions”

Supplies & Ingredients:

o   A patch of dirt that you can safely dig in. If you live somewhere that prevents you from doing this spell outside, fill the largest pot or heat-proof bowl that you own with dirt (either dug-up dirt, or store-brought potting dirt – any dirt works).  Be sure to pack the dirt down as well as you can.

o   A spade, small shovel, or something else to dig with

o   A long-necked candle lighter or a match

o   Strips of paper

o   Something to write with

o   Table Salt

o   Water

o   A large stone

o   Any/all of the following: Honeysuckle, Passion Flower, Rose

o   Any herbs associated with what you would like to take from them.


Spell Steps

Step 1: Pick up your spade or what you want to dig with.  Hold it in your hand and say:

“This is (target’s name) and they have stolen from me.”

Step 2: Begin digging a hole in your pile of dirt.  Dig at least a few inches down, so that you’ve formed a bowl-like indent in the center of the dirt.  As you are digging, say:

“This is (target’s name) digging a grave to bury their fee for stealing from me.”

Step 3: When you are done digging, set the loose dirt aside for later.  Say:

“Hasn’t (target’s name) dug a pretty grave for their fee?”

Step 4: Write down what you would like to steal from your target on the strips of paper. You can be generic and use phrases like ‘their passions’, ‘their motivation’, etc; or you can be specific and use phrases like ‘their desire to write their own story which is titled “such-and-such”.  

“This is what I demand in return for what (target’s name) has stolen from me:”.

Step 5: Mix the paper strips with the herbs and botanicals, and put them into the hole in the dirt.  As you are doing so, say recite in list form what is on the paper strips and what the herbs and botanicals stand for.

If you choose not to use fire in this spell, skip this next step!

Step 6: Drop a match onto the paper or use your candle lighter and light ‘em up up up, light ‘em up up up, light ‘em up up up, spell’s on fire!  While it burns, say

“My patience is gone, I demand payment now.”

 And when everything is done burning….

Step 7: Cover the hole with a thin layer of dirt and say:

“Covered in darkness, let what lives in this earth eat away your payment.”

Step 9: Douse the whole thing with water and say:

“Drowned in water, let the damp drip down and rot away at your payment.”

Step 10:  Pour a layer of salt over the water and say:

“Packed in salt, let the dryness of this mineral drink away at your payment.”

Step 11:  Cover it all back up with soil.  Pack the soil back down as best you can.  Place your stone on top of the spell, and say:

o   “Let the weight of this stone sit on you day and night,

o   Let the shadow of this stone fill your tired mind with fright.

o   This stone now holds the fee for all that you have stolen from me,

o   And as long as this stone exists, your fee remains with me.”

Step 12:  After you are done, be sure to end the spell and let it do its work. Ground yourself, have a snack and something nice to drink, and wash the dirt off of your hands – uh, well maybe do that before you eat and drink, I suppose!


If you would like to undo this spell:

o   Step 1: Take the stone away and crack it, releasing the payment.

o   Step 2:  Dig up the rest of the spell for good measure and scatter as much of the dirt and ingredients as you can.

o   Step 3:  Plant something new in the hole, I don’t care what but make sure it is a little bean just try to make sure it grows.

(by tarigrove)

the meaning of time;

member- taehyung

genre- pretty fluffy, au

words- 1,325

summary- a boy who has never had an interest in the present day finds a reason to never leave it. timetraveler!taehyung

a/n- idkkk about this (i never know about my writing lol) but i think there’s a lot i can write with this topic, so if you guys like it, i may write more about this little time traveler. dear anon, i hope you like this! 

Originally posted by ygnj

Time has a wonderful way of showing us what matters. 

The concept of time has always been a mystery to Taehyung. He’s grown up his whole life with a distorted view of how the world really is, because, well, he doesn’t exactly know how the world really is. He’s never had the chance to spend much time in the present- for good reasons. 

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i will grow roots here.
not a promise, but a fact
disguised with sincerity,
with longing for the home
left long ago, while the father 
left claw marks down the wall
and the mother grew silent and still. 

anywhere i feel safe,
i’ll dig my hands into
bury them, let them learn
how not to tremble,
what it means to find shelter,
what it means to be gentle,
to finally unclench from fists.

and here, right here—
a tree will grow
from my tired body,
steady and spread out
against the sky.

—  Emily Palermo, A TREE GROWS IN THE BODY

anorable asked: zutara, katara finds out how zuko got his scar? the first time i tried to write this, it turned into this. but i like this better, and i hope you like it, good grief i was so nervous. reposted.

“My father gave it to me,” he says in a quiet voice, and it is the only thing that causes Katara to cease in her pacing, foot caught mid-step, face torn between frustration and confusion at his words. But when she turns her head to look at him, his fingertips graze the ring of his crimson blemish, eyes trained on a spot between his feet.

She is deliberately slow as she crosses the walkway, climbing onto the stairs where Zuko is seated, sitting so close that her hair brushes along his arm as she sits down beside him. Katara paces because her patience wears thin for the flighty, frightened Avatar she has placed her faith in, but she has wells spilling over with patience for the Prince who suddenly seems so young and vulnerable in the moonlight.


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